


Snowed In

by handwrittenhello



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta Jaskier | Dandelion, Blow Jobs, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cunnilingus, Light Angst, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Omega Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Oral Sex, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Snowed In, Threesome - F/M/M, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, Top Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, intersex a/b/o
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:40:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29447181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handwrittenhello/pseuds/handwrittenhello
Summary: Jaskier has been helping Geralt through his heats for years; he can't help but feel like he's been replaced, though, when Geralt starts to spend his heats with Yennefer. He swallows his resentment—after all, how can a beta like him compare to an alpha like Yennefer?But when the three of them are snowed in together, with Geralt's heat approaching, Jaskier and Yennefer are delighted to learn that Geralt wants to share his heat with both of them.--Written for the Geraskier Reverse Bang 2020, with art by merpancake.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 15
Kudos: 169
Collections: GRB2020 Team Works





	Snowed In

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Geraskier Reverse Bang, based on some wonderful art by [merpancake](https://merpancake.tumblr.com), which you can view [here on tumblr](https://artcake.tumblr.com/post/643143464696086528/handwrittenhello-wrote-a-super-spicy-ot3-abo). 
> 
> Thanks to violaceum_vitellina_viridis for betaing!

It all started with that damn djinn.

He and Geralt had been fine before that—two friends, together through thick and thin, even if there had been a bit of pining on Jaskier’s part. At least it was better now than it used to be—after many, many years together on the Path, Geralt had finally lowered his walls, letting Jaskier worm his way in. Jaskier still remembered the momentous occasion when, after years and years of Jaskier pleading and offering and reluctantly leaving him be, Geralt finally allowed him to help with his heat.

Before he had caved and let Jaskier help, it had been torture. Geralt refused to go to a brothel for his heats—too vulnerable, too public, too _much._ Whenever he felt his heat coming on, he would leave town immediately (or, if they weren’t in a town, he would go deeper into the woods, or the mountains, or wherever they happened to be). The first few years, he’d sent Jaskier away with no room for argument.

It was only after years of friendship and accompaniment that Geralt allowed him to stay during his heats—although, it was arguably worse then, when Jaskier had to sit there and listen to Geralt thrash and moan and _suffer,_ unable to find even a moment of relief. But he still stayed, because he was a good friend, and like hell would he let Geralt suffer alone, even if it meant that his heart ached with every little sound that came from the miserable omega.

And then finally, _finally,_ Geralt had let him help. Not during his heat—because anything he said while caught in the throes of his heat wasn’t real, wasn’t consent. No, it was in the aftermath of a heat that he admitted it—he wanted Jaskier there, he wanted Jaskier to _heat-partner_ him, wanted to give him that trust and that responsibility.

Jaskier hadn’t known what to say, at first—what _could_ he say? ‘I’m honored?’ ‘Thank you?’

He’d settled on, “Of course, love,” hoping that it wasn’t crossing the line, hoping that he didn’t come off as a fetishistic, wannabe-alpha prick obsessed with getting off with an omega.

Geralt had smiled, a rare thing Jaskier treasured, and shifted his head onto Jaskier’s lap, subtly demanding that Jaskier comb his fingers through his hair. Out of all the things Geralt hated most about heats, it was that he had no access to a bath, and his hair was always uncontrollably tangled and matted by the end.

So Jaskier had complied, and gently untangled the worst of it, scratching small circles across his scalp occasionally, delighting in the purr that had rumbled from the witcher’s chest as he did so.

Which had brought them to now, or at least, to where they’d been just before the djinn incident. Jaskier had been heat-partnering Geralt for about four years—he’d truly thought that nothing could break them apart. There was the small matter of his feelings for Geralt, yes, but those were only silly romantic notions—surely what they had now, a deep, abiding friendship, strengthened by the trust Geralt displayed during his heats—wasn’t worth wrecking over some silly pining. What was he, a heartsick teenager? No, Jaskier had long ago firmly resolved to never bring those feelings up, lest he end up betraying Geralt’s trust.

And then Geralt had to go and dig up that damn djinn, and then it was all sort of blur for Jaskier, until he woke up in the bed of a strange naked woman who quickly turned out to be _very_ terrifying, and then he was running for his life and seeing Geralt again and then the house was collapsing and Geralt was running inside and _Geralt was dead—_

Except he wasn’t dead, was he, because he and the witch were currently doing very alive things, making very alive noises, and was that—was that _heat scent he smelled—_

Jaskier walked away—fled, really, but he was choosing to say that it was a very composed walk—so that he wouldn’t have to see them, a bonded pair, alpha and omega sharing a heat and rut.

Geralt found him drinking himself stupid in the tavern later that night. Jaskier didn’t even want to know how he’d found him. The witcher took one look at him, grunted, and pulled him away from the bar, throwing him over his shoulder—Jaskier valiantly didn’t throw up at the altitude change—and then dumping him in bed.

And Jaskier woke up the next morning disappointingly sober, but Geralt was there, so that was alright. They packed up and left Rinde without a word—and without the witch—and it was all so very normal.

For the most part, anyway. It was when spring came rolling around that Yennefer appeared in their lives again—well, Geralt’s life, because Geralt took one look at her and left Jaskier to his own devices for the night. He tried not to feel like an old toy abandoned for a shiny new one, and failed.

Again and again it happened, Yennefer drifting in and out at will, snagging Geralt like a fish on a hook—and he went willingly, which was the worst part, because Jaskier couldn’t even begrudge him it. Yennefer was an alpha, a beautiful, powerful, immortal one, and Jaskier was only a beta. Only ever a stand-in until Geralt found his mate.

Jaskier was happy for him, truly, but that didn’t mean it didn’t still hurt.

* * *

But it really, truly stung one winter, three years later, when all three of them were snowed in together.

Jaskier didn’t even know how exactly it happened, truthfully—all he knew was that he’d been freezing his bollocks off, trooping along besides Roach, and then Geralt had pulled them off the road towards a tiny cabin. Jaskier was overjoyed to be out of the biting wind and stinging snowflakes—he was _definitely_ buying warmer clothes in the next town—until he looked up at the place they’d found themselves in, and let out a groan.

“Why is it always _you?”_ he griped, pulling off his gloves with his teeth and holding his poor aching hands over the fire in the hearth. Couldn’t let them freeze—they were his most important tool, besides his voice and his lute.

Yennefer, lounging on a couch nearby, fixed him with a pitying stare. He ignored it, fighting the urge to hunch up his shoulders under her gaze. “I could ask you the same thing,” she replied coolly, looking over at Geralt, who was steadfastly undoing buckles and untying straps on his armor, not looking at either of them. “Though I can’t say I’m disappointed,” she continued, smile growing coy as Geralt continued to undress.

Jaskier focused on the fire, watching its flickering depths and nebulous embers, because the alternative was watching as Yennefer pushed herself to her feet and sauntered over to Geralt, pulling him into a deep kiss. Right in front of him. Gods, if they were going to act like that, could they at least not do it in front of him?

Angrily, he yanked his gloves back onto his hands and stalked over to the door, intent on spending the night outside with Roach. At least she didn’t make him feel like an intruder.

“Jaskier,” Geralt called, the moment Jaskier laid a hand on the door. “What are you doing?”

Jaskier didn’t turn around, staring at the pattern of the wood as he struggled to tamp down his emotions. “Think I’ll give you two some time alone,” he said bitterly.

“You don’t have to—”

“That’s nice of you, but I really don’t want to intrude on any part of”—he flapped a hand—“this. So you two have fun—I’ll be spending a lovely night with Roach.”

“It’s freezing out there, you idiot,” Yennefer interrupted. “You’d die before the snow could even cover your frozen corpse.” Despite the harsh words, Jaskier thought he could detect a hint of concern in her voice.

Jaskier closed his eyes and hung his head. Couldn’t they leave him to wallow in peace? He heard footsteps approaching him from behind, and felt Geralt take him by the arm, tugging him gently away from the door. “Come on,” he said, even more gently. Jaskier thought his heart might break from wanting.

But he allowed Geralt to lead him, pulling him down onto the couch in front of the fire, and gratefully if sullenly took in the warmth coming from the hearth. Geralt sat down next to him, their shoulders brushing, torturous in its closeness, while Yennefer draped herself on Jaskier’s other side.

It was terribly domestic, the three of them sat around the hearth, though Jaskier wouldn’t call it comfortable. Sure, the fire was nice, and the cushions were soft—incredibly soft, actually, on par with the kind usually only found in palaces—but he couldn’t help but feel on edge, sandwiched in between the pair.

There was a tension in the air—charged with something, he didn’t know what. It wasn’t resentment, resentment for him having effectively cockblocked them, which surprised him. At every other opportunity, they’d shown no hesitation to get down to business as soon as possible, but it seemed like they were showing restraint for once.

But still, there was that strange quality to the silence—he couldn’t even tell their emotions from their scents as he normally might, mutated and magicked as they were. He was able to get the standard alpha and omega scents, of course—along with Yennefer’s customary lilac and gooseberries, and the faint stench of monster guts wafting from where Geralt had dumped his armor, something that never seemed to wash out.

But other than that, there was no indication to their feelings, besides the slight tenseness Geralt wore beside him, a subtle tilt to his shoulders that Jaskier only knew to look for from countless years spent at the witcher’s side.

Jaskier let out a huff. “Alright, out with it. What’s going on?” he asked, looking back and forth between them. Geralt looked nervous, while Yennefer wore an expertly-masked air of anticipation. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Yennefer deflected, not looking in his direction. Jaskier turned to Geralt.

“Out with it. You’re tense, both of you, and it’s not just lust. I would smell it if it were,” Jaskier said baldly.

Geralt opened his mouth—likely to deflect, judging by how his eyes flickered to Yennefer—but Jaskier glared, narrowing his eyes, demanding truth. Geralt shut his mouth.

Then opened it again, and said, “My heat.” Which explained precisely nothing.

“What about it? I’m not following,” Jaskier replied.

“His heat is coming, and he wants to spend it with you. With both of us,” Yennefer clarified. Jaskier sat there, dumbfounded. “I told you this was a bad idea,” she said to Geralt.

“Yen—”

“No, no, wait, I—I would love to spend your heat with you, Geralt, you know that, but why? You have Yennefer now, you don’t need me.”

Geralt made a pained noise at that. “It’s not about need.”

“Then what is it about? Because if it’s pity, you can just fuck right off. I’m not some charity case beta so desperate for a fuck that he’ll barge into the middle of a mated pair,” Jaskier spat, suddenly on the defensive. All of the things people said about betas—that they were useless, that they weren’t made to find a mate, that they’d always be lesser than alphas and omegas—were spinning through his mind.

“He wants you, bard, though gods know why,” Yennefer said. “And gods help me, but I do too. Help me heat-partner Geralt,” she urged, and Geralt let out a punched-out groan.

The unmistakable scent of lust filtered into the air—the musk of slick, rising from Geralt, and the very beginnings of heat-scent. _Fuck._ Jaskier felt himself hardening in response.

“You mean it?” Jaskier asked, shifting in his seat. “You’re a bonded pair, and I don’t—”

“We’re not bonded,” Yennefer interrupted.

Jaskier blinked at her. “But after the djinn—”

“Our destinies are intertwined, and we enjoy each other’s company, but we haven’t… mated,” Geralt explained, lingering a little over the word.

“So… all that sex…”

“Just that. That’s all this would be, just sex. Helping Geralt… in his time of need,” Yennefer purred, and Geralt groaned.

Jaskier licked his lips as the scent of slick grew stronger. Geralt had to be getting uncomfortable by now, his heat proper arriving soon. “And if I want it to be—if I want _more?”_ he suggested, palms clammy at baring his soul like this.

“Fuck,” Geralt cursed, ducking his head. “Ask me that when I’m not about to jump both of you.”

Yennefer laughed. “I think we’ve made you wait long enough,” she soothed, then turned to Jaskier. “Well, bard? Are you in?”

“ _Hell yes.”_

* * *

Geralt didn’t know if Yennefer’s magic was at play, or if this cabin truly was just exceptionally well-furnished; either way, he wasn’t complaining, as Yennefer led them both to the bedroom, where a large bed complete with plenty of plush pillows lay in wait.

Jaskier perched on the edge of the bed as Yennefer pulled Geralt into a deep, filthy kiss, pheromones rising as their mouths clashed and their hands wandered. Jaskier whined a little from where he was sitting on the bed.

Yennefer broke the kiss. “Get undressed,” she instructed Geralt, who did so eagerly, and then turned to Jaskier. “Help him,” she ordered, and then stepped away. Jaskier fell on Geralt enthusiastically, stripping him of his clothes and laying kisses on the bare skin being revealed. Geralt already felt so hot, his heat coming on strong, skin practically simmering with it, and everywhere Jaskier’s lips touched only increased his excitement.

Geralt returned the favor of undressing him, almost frantic in his eagerness. Soon they were both naked, and Geralt pushed Jaskier backwards until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed. Jaskier went down willingly, and Geralt climbed on top of him, kissing him the whole while.

And then Geralt felt a hand running through his hair, slim fingers and sharp nails so distinctive to Yennefer. She yanked his head up, not harsh, but firm—and he growled, though he could feel his pupils contract when his eyes met Yennefer, standing above them, body similarly bared, though she had magicked her cocksheath on, and Geralt’s mouth watered at the sight of the toy that would soon be filling him.

“Let our poor beta breathe,” Yennefer teased, running her hand through his hair again, and Geralt relented, though he remained where he was, pinning Jaskier’s top half to the bed—not that Jaskier was complaining. “Now, you have a decision to make. Who do you want first?”

Geralt whined. She wanted him to make a decision? Now, when he could hardly think for lust?

“Ah ah ah,” Yennefer tutted. “I know it’s hard, darling, but I need words.”

 _“Both,”_ Geralt growled.

“As fun as that would be—definitely saving that for later—I don’t think you’re quite ready for that, my dear,” Jaskier said, hand coming up to cup Geralt’s cheek. Geralt turned his head and captured his thumb between his teeth. “And, since I’m a gentleman, I’ll even let you go first, Yennefer,” Jaskier continued magnanimously, though he’d been blushing ever since Geralt had taken his thumb into his mouth.

Geralt whined again, burying his face in Jaskier’s chest. “Will someone please just _fuck me,”_ he demanded, wiggling his hips in hopes of enticing someone, _anyone_ , feeling himself gush more slick at the movement.

“I suppose we’ve made you wait long enough,” Yennefer said, coming around to stand behind Geralt. She placed her hands on the globes of Geralt’s ass, pulling them apart, baring his dripping hole. “Oh, darling, you’re so _wet_ for us,” she cooed.

“Please, Yen, I need—”

“I know exactly what you need. You need my knot, don’t you? You need me to fill you up, fuck you until you’re incoherent with it.” Despite her words, she was still teasing, skating a single finger across his slit, yanking it away when Geralt tried to thrust backwards into it.

Desperate for something, anything, Geralt turned his head, pulling Jaskier into another kiss, absolutely filthy. Jaskier returned it eagerly, and it was almost enough for a moment—and then he jolted in surprise when Yennefer finally penetrated him, fingers dipping deep, stretching him, filling him. First one, then two more, never too much for the throes of his heat.

It got to be too much for Geralt. “Yen,” he panted, breaking the kiss. “ _Please.”_

Yennefer didn’t tease him anymore—she gripped him by the hips and thrust in with one fluid movement, her cock breaching his cunt, so different from her fingers, and _so much better._ He groaned, clenching around her, feeling every inch.

It was even better than Geralt had ever imagined it being. Sex with Yennefer was mind-blowing every time, and heat-partnering with Jaskier endlessly satisfying, but with both of them here, now, during his heat, it was _unbelievable._

Every thrust of Yennefer’s cock was heaven, her hard length sliding through his wetness, with just the right amount of pressure. His pleasure built rapidly, his breaths coming faster, unable to stop the little moans that were making their way out of his mouth, completely unbidden.

And on top of it all, Jaskier was still there, pinned underneath him, and yet managing to make _Geralt_ feel held, encased by strong arms, soothed by hands that stroked soothingly through his hair or up his back. He was murmuring something—Geralt was hardly paying attention, as enraptured by Yennefer’s cock as he was, but he could still make out phrases—“So beautiful, darling, gods, you smell so good, you’re so desperate, aren’t you?”

He whined, long and drawn-out, burying his face in Jaskier’s chest, burning in equal parts heat and embarrassment at Jaskier’s praise.

Jaskier laughed, not unkindly. “I wish you could see his face, Yennefer. He’s so beautiful like this, gods, I want to keep you here forever, Geralt, want to keep you happy and satisfied, absolutely wrung out—”

Geralt couldn’t help it—Jaskier’s words, combined with Yennefer’s steady fucking, had him coming all over Jaskier’s stomach, his hole clenching rhythmically around Yennefer, moaning out his orgasm completely untouched.

Even more embarrassingly, perhaps, was the fact that mere seconds after his head cleared, his cock had filled again, his heat quenched for a moment but nowhere near finished with him.

“Beautiful,” Jaskier praised him once more, and Geralt shuddered. Behind him, Yennefer gasped and came, taking her pleasure in him, and then pulled out, draping herself across his sweat-dewed back.

Geralt whined, satisfied and yet _not,_ always wanting more. Yennefer laughed. “Your turn, I think,” she said to Jaskier, legs still twitching with tremors. Jaskier gently pushed Geralt off of him, switching places with Yennefer, although Yennefer scooted higher up the bed, so that Geralt was lying in the vee of her legs rather than on top of her. She unbuckled her cocksheath and spread her legs suggestively, tugging at her cock—which, though it wasn’t hard yet, looked more than ready for more action. Geralt looked up with pleading eyes.

“Go ahead then,” she encouraged, and Geralt dove into her cunt eagerly, lapping at her wetness, feeling her strong thighs clench at his laving and sucking.

He was happy to just stay there for a while, eating her out, but before long his heat made itself known again, and had him rutting at the bed. Behind him, Jaskier stroked a hand down his back, and Geralt arched up into the contact.

“Darling? May I eat you out?” Jaskier asked, fingers coming down to toy with his hole. Geralt moaned into Yennefer’s cunt, feeling her gush slick in response.

Jaskier took it for the yes it was, and within moments was plunging his tongue deep inside Geralt. Geralt’s eyes rolled back at the sensation.

Yennefer, sensing his distraction, gently tugged on a strand of silver hair. Geralt took the hint and got back to work, mirroring Jaskier’s movements with his own, a conduit of pleasure.

Jaskier wasn’t holding back, either, making positively _obscene_ noises with his mouth, licking and slurping and groaning like it was the finest meal he’d ever had. Geralt, already on edge, came again, cock spurting onto the bedsheets below, cunt gushing slick, moaning into Yennefer, feeling her come in response.

Jaskier licked him clean afterwards, until Geralt was shaking with pleasure, every nerve tingling. Only then did Jaskier relent, turning Geralt over and crawling up his body to kiss him senseless while Yennefer watched.

“You haven’t come yet,” Yennefer reminded Jaskier eventually, stroking a hand through his hair, surprisingly gentle.

Geralt relinquished his mouth so he could speak, shifting to press kisses all the way down his neck, and then hungrily sucking hickies into it.

“Thought this was about Geralt,” Jaskier panted, closing his eyes. Geralt grinned at knowing he could make Jaskier sound so wrecked.

“I want to make you feel good,” Geralt murmured.

“Fuck,” Jaskier breathed. “How do you want me?”

“Let me suck your cock,” Geralt suggested, hands drifting lower to tug lazily at where Jaskier was painfully hard. “And then I want you to fuck me until I can’t take it anymore,” he finished with a growl.

Jaskier made a wounded noise, the breath sounding punched out of him. “ _Fuck yes,”_ Jaskier gasped, and Geralt wasted no time before taking Jaskier’s length into his mouth.

He was barely three pumps in before Jaskier was tugging at his hair, urging him off. Geralt let go with a wet _pop._ “I’m not going to last long enough to fuck you, if you keep doing that with your tongue,” he explained. “I’m not a teenager anymore, nor am I blessed with an omega in heat’s endurance.”

“Then _get in me,”_ Geralt growled, turning around and presenting. Jaskier sucked in a sharp breath behind him, but didn’t hesitate before sliding his cock into Geralt’s dripping wet folds. “Fuck,” he groaned. “You feel so good, Jaskier, want more, want all of you—”

Jaskier obliged, sinking in deeper with a long groan. It was fantastic, feeling Jaskier’s hot length inside of him, filling him up just right—and yet he wanted _more,_ wanted both of his lovers, however, wherever, as long as they were both there. He whined wordlessly, tilting his head up in a silent plea, and was rewarded with Yennefer’s lips on his own, biting and _taking_ what she wanted. She plundered his mouth, leaving him gasping, lips swollen and kissed red.

“Yen,” he panted. “ _Alpha._ Want you too.”

Her eyes darkened with even more lust, if that was possible. But she looked regretful as she said, “I’m afraid I don’t have the stamina to keep up with you, darling.” Geralt’s face fell, and she was quick to amend her statement. “Though I’d love to get a taste of you,” she added, and then leaned over him, taking his cock into her mouth.

He fought not to buck up into the hot, wet cavern of her mouth, though it was a near thing. He moaned and threw his head back, hands tearing at the sheets beneath him, cunt clenching around where Jaskier was buried hilt-deep.

“Fuck,” Jaskier cursed, “how are you so _tight,_ Geralt, so wet and eager, but so tight…”

Geralt keened, a high, broken sound, and came again, unstoppable, thighs clenching, spilling into Yennefer’s mouth. Jaskier followed in the wake of his orgasm, grunting out his release, seed spilling deep inside of Geralt.

He pulled out, Geralt clenching weakly in an effort to keep his come inside of him, and Jaskier’s pupils dilated at the sight. “If I wasn’t about to sleep for a week…” he mourned, and indeed, he did seem ready to pass out at any moment.

Thankfully, with that last orgasm, and with his body’s knowledge that he had gotten bred well, Geralt felt his heat abating. He nudged Yennefer off his cock, soft now, and with the last of his strength, pushed himself up so that he was properly lying on the bed.

Yennefer lay back and stretched herself out beside him, slinging a leg over his hip, possessive of what was hers, always. Jaskier, after wiping himself clean with a corner of the bedsheet—“Don’t look at me like that, you can magic it clean tomorrow,”—joined them, bracketing Geralt on the other side. His arm wrapped around Geralt in an embrace, and he nosed at Geralt’s neck, burying his face in Geralt’s hair.

Geralt, having finally caught his breath, felt a satisfied smile creeping onto his face. He closed his eyes, listening to his lovers breathe together, happy and wanting for nothing in this moment.

There would be time later to clean themselves up after the mess they’d made—for now, Geralt was content to fall asleep in the arms of the two people he loved most, the ones who took care of him in his most vulnerable moments. He relaxed into the bedsheets with a sigh, allowing sleep to claim his tired, well-fucked body.

Jaskier was already asleep behind him—his steady breaths were like a metronome, lulling Geralt towards sleep’s gentle shores.

“Sleep,” Yennefer murmured, fingers drifting across his brow, and he let himself be pulled under.

**Author's Note:**

> Please take a minute to leave kudos or a comment if you liked it! also, find me on [tumblr](https://handwrittenhello.tumblr.com)!


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